"She's a Miss Gibson, and her father's a furrier in Cheapside."
"And the pretty girl in blue with the fair hair?"
"She's the sister of a very old friend of mine, Robert Maurice—he's a wine merchant."
"You don't say so! Why, I took them for people of condition!" said Mr. Beresford Duff, who was a trifle old‑fashioned in his ways of speech. "Anyhow, they're uncommonly nice to look at."
"Oh yes," said the not too priggishly grammatical Lady Jane; "nowadays those sort of people dress like duchesses, and think themselves as good as any one."
"They're good enough for me, at all events," said Barty, who was not pleased.
"I'm sure Miss Gibson's good enough for anybody in the world!" said Julia. "She's the most beautiful girl I ever saw!" and she gave Barty a cup of tea.
Barty drank it, and felt fond of Julia, and bade them all good‑bye, and went and waited in the hall of the König's Hotel for his friends, and took them back to Düsseldorf.
Next day the Gibsons started for their little trip up the Rhine, and Barty was left to his own reflections, and he reflected a great deal; not about what he meant to do himself, but about how he should tell Martia what he meant to do.
As for himself, his mind was thoroughly made up: he would break at once and forever with a world he did not properly belong to, and fight his own little battle unaided, and be a painter—a good one, if he could. If not, so much the worse for him. Life is short.